


A Man Of Taste (Of A Sort)

by bumblefuck



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblefuck/pseuds/bumblefuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On libo in Australia, Ray experiences some of the local culture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Of Taste (Of A Sort)

"Oh. My. God. Brad, have you tasted this? Tell me you have. Tell me you agree that this is the worst thing to ever sully a man's tastebuds since New fucking Coke."

Brad's working on his computer, sitting on the couch in their bland Australian hotel room and enjoying the calm that comes when Ray Person is nowhere in the immediate area, when the door is flung open and Ray strides in. He looks strange in civvies – jeans and a grey v-neck that make him look oddly delicate, even though he's one of the toughest Marines Brad knows – but he's wearing his pimp shades and an all-too-familiar outraged expression that means everyone in the vicinity is in for one of his rants. Brad sighs inwardly.

"I liked New Coke," Trombley interjects. Nobody is really surprised. Brad's not sure why he's even there – he'd wandered in about half an hour ago and Brad couldn't be bothered kicking him out, as long as he was quiet.

"Fuck you, Trombley, you grew up on Whiskey Tango trailer park brewed moonshine that probably burnt off all your taste buds, you don't get a say. But this tastes like Trombley's _ball sweat_ , Brad. I think my mouth is dying." Ray snatches the sunglasses off his face in order to more easily glare at Brad.

"Ray," Brad turns around to lean over the back of the couch so he can better see the other man, "what the fuck are you talking about?"

Ray's standing in the middle of the small kitchenette, looking more agitated than usual. In one hand he holds a small yellow jar, which he waves around erratically.

"It's these fucking Aussies, man, something about living in the southern hemisphere must make their brains work backwards or something – like the Coriolis effect, you know? Otherwise, how could they have created this?" He thrusts the jar at Brad, who takes it, turning it over in his hands.

The label on the side reads _Vegemite_ , and Brad grins.

"In the course of your uncultured gawking at all things Australian today, Ray, did one of the guys dare to eat a whole spoonful of this?"

Ray gives Brad an indignant look and snatches the jar back. "Are you serious, Brad? Are you telling me you think I'm stupid enough to put something recommended by those retards into my mouth?"

Brad shrugs. "Well, apparently you know what Trombley's ball sweat tastes like, so I'm not going to comment on whatever things you may or may not put in your mouth." He pauses. "It was Poke, wasn't it?"

Ray shifts from foot to foot.

"Come on, Ray, Poke or Rudy?"

Ray crosses his arms on his chest. "I'm gonna get that damn Mexican bastard back if it's the last thing I do."

Brad just smiles and turns back to his laptop, only to turn back once again when the door to their room swings open a second time and Ray pounces on the intruder.

"Walt!" he says cheerfully. "Walt, buddy, how would you like to try a rare Australian delicacy I found in my travels today? Swear to God, homes, it'll be the best thing you ever tasted. What do you reckon?"

Walt ducks out from under the arm Ray's flung across his shoulders, chuckling. "No way in hell, man, Poke told me what he did to you." He smiles at Ray's pout. "Aw, don't be mad he got you." His smile turns into a full on grin. "Just be glad you didn't get it all over your face."

Ray sets the jar of Vegemite on the counter very carefully, then lunges at Walt, knocking him over and onto the carpet. Brad tries to ignore the wrestling match going on around his feet and continues typing. Trombley's disappeared from where he was sitting on one of the beds, and Brad hears some clanking from the kitchen.

Walt's got Ray very nearly pinned on the floor when Trombley speaks up.

"I don't know what your problem is, Ray," he says, licking off a spoon. "This stuff isn't bad." As the other three Marines watch, he takes another spoonful of the thick black spread and puts it in his mouth with a considering expression. "It's kinda salty I guess, but it's not terrible."

Walt loosens his grip on Ray as they both stare at Trombley with identical expressions of disgust.

"Trombley, you sick motherfucker," Ray says almost admiringly, "you are the most fucked up dude I have ever come across."

Trombley just shrugs. "Can I keep this?" he asks, pointing to the jar, and Ray nods, speechless. With an appreciative 'hm' Trombley takes another spoonful in his mouth and wanders out, jar in hand.

The silence after his departure is broken by Ray's emphatic, "What the fuck?" He looks at Walt and Brad, seemingly dumbfounded.

Walt stares back with the same amazement written over his face, then bursts out laughing.

"What?" Ray says. "What?"

"It's just," Walt says between chuckles, "that if Trombley – _Trombley_ – can handle Vegemite and you can't... you're a bigger pussy than he ever was."

Ray sputters, outraged, then pounces on Walt and the wrestling match continues.

Brad just sighs.


End file.
